In the stables at Marian Park, Rapunzel gave birth to a black foal, who seemed to think that ordinary walking was a waste of time. He pranced and jumped and put Rasputin's nose out of joint with his competitive antics.
The seasons rolled into years that moved inexorably on to other years. Marian Park prospered… sheep stud… horse stud… and five children were born-Henry, Noni, Suzanne, Michael, and Christine-all fired with the desire to carry on the traditions that had grown up around their family home.
They gathered in the drawing-room each night after dinner to ask questions and be together. Even the baby of the family was included in this hour, although she invariably fell asleep on her greatgrandfather's chest. He often fell asleep too, but Pa was very old, so nobody minded that. Everyone knew he was reserving his energy to outlive Judge Moffat.
'Daddy, who is the lady in the picture above the fireplace?' Michael asked one night.
'That's Noni Lloyd,' Justin answered quietly. 'Someone your mother and I loved very much,' he added, flicking a smile at his wife.
'She taught me how to ride,' Kelly put in.
'Why don't we have a picture of Mummy up there?' Michael said critically.
'Because no artist could paint a picture of your mother that was perfect, and we wouldn't be satisfied with less, would we?' Justin reasoned. 'We'd sit here and say, it doesn't show how her face lights up when she smiles, or the way her eyes grow warm when she gives you a cuddle, or all the things we see when we look at her.'
They all looked at her with such judgemental faces that Kelly laughed.
'You're right, Dad,' Henry declared. 'An artist wouldn't have a hope.'
'Tell us a story, Daddy,' Suzanne urged as she climbed on to his knee. 'The one when Mummy took Rasputin…'
'And you tried to stop her,' Michael crowed delightedly.
'And she jumped Rasputin bareback, right over the gate where you were standing,' Noni pressed eagerly.
'And eventually won the World Championship,' Henry added with filial pride.
'Go on, Dad,' they all urged.
Kelly rolled her eyes. Justin laughed. He had told the story so many times, the children knew it by heart, but somehow it never lost its magic for them.
'Well, you must remember that Rasputin was a real rogue in those days,' he started, frowning with worry as he was supposed to at this point. 'Not the placid old fellow we put out to graze now. No one could handle him…'
'Except Mum,' Henry put in with a wide grin. He was very much her son, and they shared a special rapport.
'That big black stallion was a mighty strong horse, with a will of its own,' Justin continued. 'And there was your mother, telling me he was a dream to ride. She was fighting mad that night, I can tell you…'
All the children grinned at that. Many a time they'd seen their mother fighting mad when they hadn't done what she'd told them. They could picture the scene perfectly.
The story went on, embellished by the children if Justin left out the slightest detail. Kelly watched her husband as he related it all again-tailoring it into the kind of story that legends are made of- yet there was so much more to it than he ever told…the emotions that had churned through them that night… the misunderstandings… their first kiss, which had been meant to frighten her but had turned into something completely different.
Their first kiss…
Her eyes softened with the love that had grown richer with every year. Her gaze swept slowly around their children-each one special in his or her own right-the future she had planned with Justin so long ago. And it had been all she had wished for and more. She sighed happily as she thought of the years still ahead of them.
Justin heard her sigh and glanced at her. Their eyes caught and locked, and for one heart-leaping moment there were only the two of them… together… discovering the bond again… and knowing the promise was true for all eternity.
And much later that night, Justin held her in his arms, caressing her body with featherlight fingertips. Kelly shivered with pleasure and hugged him closer. Justin kissed her hair.
'Kelly, I should have asked you…' he murmured. 'Would you like your portrait painted?'
She nestled her head contentedly over his heart. 'I liked your answer to the children better.'
'It's true, you know. Every time I look at you, there's more about you that I love. I don't want a portrait of you, Kelly. I want you.'
'I know,' she said. 'And the portrait of Noni belongs there, Justin. It's part of us, part of Marian Park…'
'Yes. Tonight I was remembering the first time I kissed you.'
'So was I.' Kelly smiled.
'At the time I thought… just this once.'
'Did you really?'
'Mmm. Very foolish thought.'
And he rolled her on to her back and set about kissing her again. Very thoroughly. And Kelly felt a great surge of love for this man who cherished her so much. So it would always be, she thought blissfully.
She remembered having once said that all life was a risk. And in a way it was true. But not this part.
Not her love for Justin, or his for her. That was rock-solid until the end of time.
Emma Darcy
Wendy was born on November 28 in Australia. She obtained an Honours degree in Latin. Her ambition to be an actress was partly satisfied by playing in amateur theater productions. Initially a teacher of French and English, she changed her career to computer programming before her marriage with Frank Brennan and her motherhood settled her into a community life. Her creative urges were channeled into oil painting, pottery, designing and overseeing the construction and decorating of two homes, all in the midst of keeping up with three lively sons and the very busy social life of her businessman husband.
Voracious readers, the step to writing their own books seemed a natural progression and the challenge of creating wonderful stories was soon highly addictive. With their strong interest in people and relationships, the marriage found the world of romance fiction a happy one. In 1983, they published their first novel as Emma Darcy, and now average six new books per year.
In 1993, in the Emma Darcy's 10th anniversary, Wendy and Frank Brennan created the "Emma Darcy Award Contest" to encourage authors to finish their manuscripts. It had a prize of $2,000 and a guarantee that the manuscript would be seen by an acquiring editor.
Wendy Brennan's life journey has taken as many twists and turns as those of the characters in her stories, whose popularity worldwide has resulted in 60 million books in print. Since 1995, when Frank Brennan died, Wendy writes the novels on her own. Her conviction that we must make all we can out of the life we are given keeps her striving to know more, be more, give more, and this is reflected in all her books. Currently, she has broadened her horizons and begun to write mainstream women's fiction. Other new directions include her most recent adventures of blissfully breezing around the Gulf of Mexico from Florida to Louisiana in a red Ford Mustang convertible, and risking the perils of the tortuous road along the magnificent Amalfi Coast in Italy.
Wendy Brennan is currently living on a beautiful country property in New South Wales, she has moved from country to city to towns and back to country, sporadically indulging her love of tropical islands with numerous vacations.
